


have you any soul?

by Eguinerve



Series: demon!Maleagant [1]
Category: La Légende du Roi Arthur - Savio & Skread & Zaho/Chouquet/Attia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Attempt at Humor, Demon Deals, Demon Summoning, M/M, demon!Maleagant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23665543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eguinerve/pseuds/Eguinerve
Summary: Arthur tried drinking, he tried sleeping around, he tried therapy, so, really, summoning a demon seemed like a logical progression of his— dealing with the situation. Or failing to.
Relationships: Arthur/Maleagant (La Légende du Roi Arthur)
Series: demon!Maleagant [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827469
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	have you any soul?

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for Jolfa in an attempt to get over my writer's block  
> I'm not sure it worked, so... please, don't take this seriously 
> 
> prompt: urban fantasy AU, the key phrase _"sink your teeth into the people you depend on"_

The pentagram looks sloppy and a little bit crooked, but it resembles the picture in the book enough for Arthur to believe that he won’t be killing himself in the process. 

_Probably_. 

He’s still not sure what possessed him to try and summon an _actual demon_ , but here he is and he’s not going to back off. 

Fixing the particularly unconvincing part of the pentagram, Arthur straightens up and dusts off the chalk, then cocks his head to the side and squints at the floor. 

It will do, he decides. 

The spellbook feels heavy in his hands, its leather suspiciously warm, and the font is absolutely _unintelligible_ , but Arthur took care to memorize the spell beforehand. 

_Mostly_. 

“Attenrobendum eos,” he mutters, “ad consiendrum, ad ligandum eos, potiter et solvendum, et ad, congregontum eos, 'coram me.” 

It sounds appropriately ominous, he supposes, especially repeated thrice as the book suggests. 

_Now_ all he needs is the name. 

“Mme—” he stumbles and barely stifles an urge to curse aloud. “Mellyagraunce.” 

What kind of _name_ is it? Seriously. 

The pentagram _explodes_. Startled, Arthur takes a step back and lets go of the book that falls on the floor with a loud _thud_. The wall of roaring fire before his eyes feels absolutely real, the heat threatens to scorch his beard, and no amount of watching Morgana doing her tricks prepared Arthur for _this_. 

This was a _terrible_ idea. 

The fire subsides as abruptly as it starts. It leaves the ringing silence where the roaring was, _the man’s figure_ where the flames raged. 

The man — the demon — looks… unremarkable. 

No, that’s not the right word. He’s definitely striking in his smart three-piece suit, his dark curls an artful mess, his cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass, it’s just— 

He looks like someone Arthur would’ve expected to see at some fancy soiree and not, well, in the middle of a pentagram.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you—” 

_Are you sure you got the right place?_ he almost says before he realizes how stupid this would sound. 

“Are you, uh, Mellygrunce?” he asks instead. 

The demon winces. 

“It’s _Mellyagraunce_ ,” he corrects, his voice sharp and not particularly pleasant. “But if that’s too difficult for you, call me Maleagant.”

“That’s not much better,” Arthur mutters. 

The demon — alright, _Maleagant_ , he can remember this — arches his eyebrows, wordlessly asking Arthur if he’s _that_ dumb. 

The tips of Arthur’s ears feel hot. 

“You summoned me,” Maleagant states, brushing off the invisible specks of dust from the lapel of his suit jacket. “Care to tell me why?” 

He crosses his arms, and there is something oddly _defensive_ in that gesture, though Arthur is probably just imagining things. 

“I want to make a deal,” he says. “Is this— the thing you do?”

The corner of Maleagant’s mouth twitches. He has a nice mouth, Arthur thinks, its curve sharp and almost capricious, and the tiny scar under his lower lip only makes it seem more captivating. 

“It _is_ ,” Maleagant says. He sounds patient but in a way that makes Arthur wary of testing it. “Although you evidently forgot to check my actual working hours. I was in the middle of something.” 

Arthur blinks. That sounds so— _mundane_. 

A part of him _knows_ that there is a whole magical world he can’t be a part of, that there are all sorts of creatures out there living their lives, but the idea of a demon having working hours is just— 

Absolutely and completely ridiculous. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I don’t really— I’m kind of new to this.”

And he’s definitely not going to make this a habit. 

“Clearly,” Maleagant sighs and uncrosses his hands. Completely unbothered by the chalk lines, he steps out of the pentagram and heads straight to the sofa. “By the way, you botched the containment sigil.” 

“Of course I did,” Arthur shakes his head. “Can I get you a drink?” 

Never let it be said that he is a bad host, and while the demon doesn’t look particularly murderous, it’s probably best to be polite with him. 

“Only if you happen to have semi-decent wine.” 

The amount of skepticism in Maleagant’s voice is absolutely unnecessary. 

Sure, Arthur’s flat doesn’t exactly look fancy — he _is_ a poor student, after all — but it’s not like he’s completely broke. He does have perfectly good wine. It may be one of Morgana’s usual secretly spiteful gifts, but it’s not like Maleagant needs to know _that_. 

Arthur tries not to hurry as he fetches the bottle of wine and two glasses from his kitchen. He doesn’t want to show how _nervous_ he feels about the demon making himself way too comfortable on his sofa, but probably doesn’t succeed. 

He feels Maleagant’s gaze on him as he pours the wine. It’s curious, a little bored and oddly intense. It makes Arthur’s skin feel all prickly, which is a— surprisingly pleasant sensation. 

“So,” Maleagant says as Arthur takes his seat on the opposite end of the sofa. “What’s your story, then? I’m feeling generous enough to listen.” 

Arthur sighs. 

He twirls the wine in his glass and takes a careful sip, winces from the too-sour taste Morgana _knows_ he hates, then sighs again.

“My girlfriend left me,” he says. “We, uh… We were engaged for a while, and then she fell in love with one of my closest friends. I think they had an affair for a few months before they confessed, which—” 

Made it worse, but also kind of better. 

Arthur is still so awfully _conflicted_ about what he feels towards Guinevere, whether his love for her remains untainted, whether he truly forgives the betrayal of her heart and her lies— 

He doesn’t know. 

“I don’t do love spells,” Maleagant presses his lips into a hard, thin line. His eyes seem darker, and the emotions in them are almost frightening in its intensity. “They say our kind lacks a conscience, but at least we have a _code_. Trust me on this one, you can’t make someone love you. Not if you don’t want to regret it for the rest of your miserable existence.” 

Arthur blinks. 

It sounds awfully personal, the way Maleagant talks about it, like maybe it’s the mistake he made himself. 

Or maybe he simply watched others make it one too many times. 

“No,” Arthur shakes his head. “ _No_ , that’s not what I want. I just—” 

He doesn’t know how to ask Maleagant for what he truly needs. It’d sound so _foolish_ , but he tried everything he could without a modicum of success, and when Morgana offered him an unlikely solution— 

He caved in. 

“I just want to _forget_ ,” he mumbles. “We’ve been together for a year and broke up last spring, and I _still_ can’t get over her. I just— I want to let go, I want to feel happy for her and Lancelot, but—” 

“Ah, I see,” Maleagant drawls. “You are one of those who sink your teeth into the people you depend on. Aren’t you afraid to leave them with scars?” 

“Is this…” Arthur raises his head, feeling incredulous enough to be momentarily distracted from his misery. “Are you quoting _Set It Off_?” 

Maleagant scowls. He doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t _deny_ anything. 

The idea of a demon having working hours may be strange enough, but a demon listening to pop-punk? _Maleagant_ listening to pop-punk? 

It almost makes this whole mess worth it. 

“Alright, let me get this straight,” Maleagant takes the first sip on his wine, pauses for a moment to taste it, but thankfully voices no disappointment. “You summoned me because you’re still hung up on your ex?” 

“Well… yes.” 

Much as Arthur wants to find the better way to voice it, it’s still the gist of it. 

He needs to move on. 

Foolishly, he built all of his dreams around his and Guinevere’s life together, he thought her to be _the one_ , he wanted to build a family with her and grow old with her, and with her gone he feels— _empty_ in a way he simply cannot change. 

He _wants_ to. 

He tried drinking, he tried sleeping around, he tried therapy, so, really, summoning a demon seemed like a logical progression of his dealing with the situation. 

Or failing to.

Maleagant sighs. 

He places his glass of wine on the table near the sofa and rakes his fingers through his hair, and it’s only then that Arthur notices two tiny horns on the top of his head. It’s the first thing that actually betrays Maleagant’s magical nature, and Arthur can’t help but feel _charmed_ by it. 

Shouldn’t it be illegal for demons to look this adorable? 

Maleagant catches his gaze and narrows his eyes as if he knows _exactly_ what Arthur’s thinking about and what words he chooses. Maybe he does. 

Arthur swallows. 

“So… can you do that?” he asks, trying to distract them both. “Help me move on?”

“Yes, I suppose I can,” Maleagant says. “For the right price.”

Arthur swallows again, though his mouth feels dry as a desert. 

“Would that be my soul?”

Maleagant snorts, which looks entirely undignified but also — _again_ — adorable. 

“You know,” he says, “I still can’t figure out if you are genuinely this stupid or just incredibly skilled at pretending.”

Arthur is pretty sure he should feel offended, but he doesn’t. Truth be told, he never thought himself to be especially smart, and he can’t deny how foolish and irresponsible this whole idea is. 

He’s dealing with the things he doesn’t understand because of the problem that most people would consider a minor inconvenience at best. It’s _not_ for Arthur, it fucked him up much more than he’s willing to admit, but—

Well, the point is, apparently he _is_ this stupid. 

He shrugs.

“I know this wasn’t my brightest idea,” he admits. “And I know I’m lucky I summoned _you._ You seem to be a decent person—” 

“ _High_ praise,” Maleagant interrupts. 

His words are laced with venom, but his eyes seem oddly amused. A tiny smile hides in the corners of his mouth, and Arthur can’t help but imagine how _different_ he would look smiling openly. Softer, more approachable. 

He thinks he’d like to see that.

“The price for what you ask of me,” Maleagant continues, “is most certainly not a _soul_. We don’t deal in souls these days, it’s not exactly legal. _Or_ profitable as there are plenty of more useful energy sources. But I digress. Let’s say—” 

He pauses and rubs his chin with his knuckles. 

“How about IOU? A favor, if you will. Nothing illegal.” 

“By _your_ laws or ours?”

“Ah.” The corner of Maleagant’s mouth twitches. “I guess you’re not _that_ stupid after all. By yours. Believe it or not, I prefer fair trade.”

Oddly, Arthur _does_ believe him. Whatever notions he may have had about demons, it’s obvious that their world is not that different from the one he’s used to, and if he is entirely honest with himself, his own sister seems to possess far more diabolical traits than Maleagant does. 

They don’t _know_ each other, not really, but Arthur has always considered himself a pretty decent judge of character. He’s sure he’s not mistaking now. 

“Alright,” Arthur offers a little unsure smile. “Alright, that’s fair. Where do I sign?”

“Here.”

With a flair — and a flare of flames — Maleagant produces a single sheet of paper, pristinely white and tightly packed with text. He offers it to Arthur. 

“What’s up with the font?” Arthur grumbles, squinting in an attempt to decipher the meaning of the text. 

It looks exactly the same as the unintelligible scribbles he found in the magical book, but the wording seems pretty straightforward, and he _did_ have a brief law course in university. 

“Aesthetics.”

_Of course._

“A piece of advice,” Maleagant says, placing a fancy-looking ink pen into Arthur’s hand. His fingers feel warm, almost _hot_ , like there is a fire burning right under his skin, and it makes Arthur feel— _things_. “Next time you decide to seek our services, _do_ check the working hours. And consult your lawyer first. Or _our_ lawyer as I doubt yours would understand the fine details of magical contracts.”

Arthur decides not to say he doesn’t _have_ a lawyer, magical or otherwise. 

He signs his name at the bottom of the contract, praying that he’s not making a huge mistake, then hands it back to Maleagant. 

“Pendragon, huh?” Maleagant peers at the signature. “Very well. Now, when the paperwork is done, it’s time to seal the deal.” 

Arthur blinks a few times, quite unsuccessfully trying to hide his confusion. Wasn’t _the contract_ exactly for that? 

Maleagant catches his gaze and offers him a thin smile. 

“It’s just the paper,” he waves the contract in the air. “It will hold in court, but it’s not _magically_ binding and we can’t afford such a risk. Try not to worry too much, it’s not that different from, say, collateral.”

Collateral. Is he actually required to give away his soul? Is Maleagant offering him a soul mortgage? 

Isn’t it suspicious that the word mortgage has _mort_ in it? 

Arthur clears his throat. 

“And how this— how do we proceed, exactly?” 

Maleagant’s face is completely unreadable, but Arthur can _swear_ there is an amusement hiding in the depths of his eyes. It’s gentle, almost, certainly not malicious, and it does manage to soothe his worries. 

Somewhat. 

“A kiss,” Maleagant says matter-of-factly. “A little old-fashioned, true, but our kind is rather archaic in some matters.”

Arthur stares. He opens his mouth then closes it again, unsure what he means to say. 

Is Maleagant serious? 

Does he do this with _all_ of his clients? 

What kind of kiss does he mean, exactly? 

Does Arthur _need_ to know that, when the prospect of kissing Maleagant actually sounds really enticing? 

“Well?” Maleagant raises his eyebrows. 

“Go ahead,” Arthur croaks, his throat suddenly dry. “I mean. Yeah. Let’s, uh… seal our deal. Kiss away. Take your— whatever. I—” 

Maleagant is suddenly too close. He moves so fast Arthur barely registers it, his knee presses between Arthur’s thighs, his palm squeezes Arthur’s shoulder, his breath feels scorchingly hot on Arthur’s lips. 

He smells faintly of wine, brimstone and very expensive cologne, his eyes seem otherworldly green and oddly gentle. Arthur feels warmth spreading in his belly, excitement making his heart beat faster, he thinks— 

He doesn’t want to think at all. 

Maleagant kisses him languidly slow and achingly tender, with the same intensity that shines through everything that he is. There is nothing _business-like_ about it, and for a moment it’s so easy to believe there is no contract at all, no heartache or stupid decisions, that Arthur’s heart is finally free and ready to take someone in. 

The familiar emptiness in his soul doesn’t feel empty at all. 

“I think it’s working,” Arthur whispers into Maleagant’s lips. “Whatever magic you’re doing, I’m pretty sure it’s working.” 

Maleagant laughs. 

His eyes crinkle in the corners and his smile is absolutely _breathtaking_. 

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he says. “Maybe I don’t have to.” 

Oh. 

_Oh_. 

Arthur isn’t sure if he should feel disappointed or ashamed or _anything_ else, but there is nothing but elation in his heart. Excitement. _Hope_. 

“Don’t forget that you owe me, Arthur,” Maleagant whispers. “I’ll make sure to collect.”

Arthur knows he will be looking forward to it.


End file.
